


Bathroom Bangin'

by TrishIsHere



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, this is just really gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 18:47:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15691254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrishIsHere/pseuds/TrishIsHere
Summary: Mickey wakes up in a horny mood, wants to fuck in the bathroom.Shit happens.





	Bathroom Bangin'

**Author's Note:**

> SO. Here you go, Monkey. I... really hope you enjoy this filthy piece of work....  
> This is based off of one of their drawings !! Please go look at it.... http://eightmonkeys.tumblr.com/image/176992033564

It’s early. Too early, actually, but Mickey is awake. He’s awake and staring at the bathroom doorway, watching his boyfriend stand there at the sink and do whatever the fuck it is that Ian Gallagher does at this time in the morning.

 

Mickey lays there, his blanket covering his lower half. One of his legs is out and folded over top of it, always needing just the right amount of hot and cold. Cold and hot. It helps him sleep, helps him feel comfortable, but the fact that Ian wasn’t beside him at the moment was probably the reason he had woken up in the first place. 

 

He lets out a subtle groan. Quiet. Loud enough for it to be audible, just barely, to Ian, but quiet. “Ian,” 

 

The room is slowly becoming devoured by sunlight, the bright yellow rays inching their way through the blinds and seeping through the blue curtains that are pulled close together, the one sliver separating them being enough for the sunlight to creep it’s way into the room. 

 

Ian glances behind him, quick, and then looks back at the mirror. “M’shaving.” He mumbles. 

 

Mickey finds himself rolling his eyes heavenward. Shaving at, what- he glances over to the small analog alarm clock sitting on their nightstand- nine in the fucking morning? What was with this guy and getting up early? It’s Saturday for fuck sake. Their day off. _Their day_. 

 

“This fuckin’ early?” Mickey asks, his voice still soft and sleep filled. He slowly sits himself up and brings his hands up to rub the heel into his eyes, ridding of any remaining sleep that dared to stay there. 

 

There’s a soft chuckle that comes from Ian. Mickey can tell, can hear it, can see it in the way his back moves so slightly. “It’s nine, Mick.” He says, “Anything before twelve in the afternoon is early to you.” 

 

Mickey grunts at that. Ian wasn’t wrong. He slides his legs over the side of the bed and lets his feet rest on the cold hardwood floor of their apartment. It grabs at the soft skin on the bottom of his feet, the cold, and squeezes it, sending a soft spark through Mickey’s body. It wakes him up a bit more, causes him to drag a hand through his black hair and stand. He stretches, pops his back, and slowly pads into the bathroom. 

 

He walks behind Ian, lets the palms of his hands slowly slither their way against Ian’s skin, moving from his back to around his waist and to the front of his boxers. Mickey dips his fingers into the waistband and snaps it softly, gently even, just a small tug, and Ian chuckles yet again. Mickey can feel it this time, feel it as he rests the side of his face against Ian’s back. 

 

The redhead continues to finish off his face, carefully dragging the razor down and washing it off, down and wash, down and wash. He leans into Mickey’s touches, though. He leans and hums, deep, enjoying the soft touches and warmth coming from the smaller man. 

 

As Ian tries to finish shaving, Mickey continues to let his hands travel further. He sinks them further into Ian’s boxers, lets them slide back to Ian’s ass and give it a firm squeeze, an encouraging one. His movements are slow, slow but with an objective. Ian can feel it, knows what Mickey wants. 

 

He grabs the towel and pats off his face, finally turning around and looking down at Mickey. Looking into those blue orbs that hold so much fucking feeling, even this early in the morning (for him at least). 

 

Mickey darts his tongue out to wet his lips as he looks up at Ian, eyebrows rose, expression expectant. He bites down on his bottom lip and nods his chin up at Ian, waiting. 

 

Ian doesn’t hesitate. He leans down and presses his lips against his boyfriend’s, the kiss starting out slow. Slow and warm. Mickey tastes like stale cigarettes and morning breath, which Ian doesn’t mind because fuck, it’s something he’s become familiar with, something he’s learned to love and need. Crave. 

 

Ian tastes like listerine and after shave. Maybe it’s the smell, of the aftershave, that Mickey’s nostrils just seemed to pick up and allow him to taste, but the listerine is powerful. Strong. It increases when he feels the redhead lick into his mouth. 

 

Mickey’s hands are making their way slowly up Ian’s abdomen, trailing their way to his chest. They’re slow, like they’ve been, and they linger in certain places that Mickey knows really gets to Ian. 

 

Ian brings his hands to Mickey’s lower back and pulls him closer, as much as he can. Wants to feel him against him, wants his warmth. He sighs into his mouth, a content one, before letting out his words. “Bed,” Is all he breaths against Mickey’s lips, ghosting the word, his voice a whisper. 

 

“Mmm,” Mickey hums, pulling away completely before giving Ian’s chest a good pat with his hand. “Nah, I gotta piss.” He says, licking his lips before walking over to the toilet and lifting the lid. Something Ian has gotten onto him about plenty of times before. _‘What the fuck, Mickey, put the seat down when you’re done!’_ or _‘Mickey, for fuck sake, there’s piss on the seat! Lift it up next time!’_ He was fucking confusing. Lift it up, put it down, Mickey didn’t fucking know. He just did as he felt was right and if Ian had a problem he could shove it up his ass. Mickey paid for this apartment, too. Screw his ‘toilet seat rules’. 

 

“Gross.” Is all Ian murmurs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before glancing in the mirror again. He notices something there, on his face. Did he cut himself shaving? Fuck. He pokes his finger at it, narrowing his brows and biting his lip. 

 

“Fuck it.” He hears Mickey say, the toilet flush accompanying his words. “Let’s bang here.” 

 

Ian raises his orange brows. “What?” 

 

“You heard me. C’mon.” 

 

“Mick, last time we did that we-“ 

 

“D’You wanna fuck me or not?” 

 

Ian closes his mouth at that. He can't argue, won’t. So he walks over and grabs Mickey by the hips, lifting him so that his ass sits firmly on the concrete lid of the toilet. 

 

They kiss again. They kiss hard, passionate. Deep. Knowing, even, and it causes moans to escape out of the both of them, their mouths not wanting to separate from one another at all, they want to taste. Want to taste and want to savor. 

 

Mickey grabs at Ian. He grabs at him and pulls him closer to him, pulls him against him. Feels him against his boxers. Moans for him, deep and breathy. “Ian,” He says heavily. Hotly. Like there’s warmth on the edge of his tongue and when he says that name, it rolls right off and bursts into something hotter. 

 

Ian only responds with his hands. He darts them down and tugs on Mickey’s boxers, pulls them down. Impatient, needing. 

 

Their foreheads press against one another. Their lips graze. Breathing hard, filled with want. Words silently being spoke through eyes locking, blue on green, green on blue. 

 

Mickey’s boxers are on the floor along with Ian’s, both boys moving to get in that perfect position. Ian reaches his hand up to Mickey’s lips and and waits for the man to part them so he can stick two fingers in. 

 

Mickey sucks. He sucks and licks around Ian’s fingers, gets them fucking soaked, but all the while he keeps his lidded blues on Ian’s greens, makes sure he’s watching him. 

 

Ian pulls his fingers out of Mickey’s mouth a moment later, a trail of saliva following. Ian uses his dry hand to shift Mickey so that he can start working him- start getting him prepared. He smirks a bit when he finally gets him right and lets his salvia slicked fingers find their way down. 

 

He rubs at Mickey’s entrance, teasing. Mickey lets out a slur, but his eyes flutter and his hand comes up to grab onto Ian’s bicep. “C’mon,” Mickey insists, low, breathy. 

 

Ian slides one finger in. He pushes, slowly, watching Mickey’s face as he sinks further. Watches how his face contorts into that one expression that gets Ian every fucking time. His eyebrows curved up, his teeth sunken into his bottom lip, his eyes barely open. But Ian can see the blown blues under those lids, can see him still wanting more. So he does. He does and Mickey fucking moans. He moans long, his head falling back a bit to where his black hair is pushed up against the wall. 

 

Ian’s smirk grows and he slides in a second finger, really working Mickey now, really getting to him.

 

Mickey’s grip on Ian’s arm only tightens. “Ian, fuck,” He breathes. Heavy. “Fuck, I want- I..” His words are coming out broken, cut off, each breath he takes coming faster as Ian keeps moving those fingers in and out. 

 

“What do you want?” Ian asks. Low. His breath hot against Mickey’s lips. He knows. Wants him to say it. Wants him to let him know.

 

“Want you.” 

 

Ian pulls his fingers out. He brings his hand to his own mouth this time and licks. Licks a fat stripe on the pad of his hand, thick and wet. Once he’s got it how he wants it, he brings it down to himself, grabs himself, pulls on himself a bit to get lubricated. 

 

He lines himself up with Mickey and slowly pushes in. Bites his lip and breathes hard as he focuses, his eyes down on the connection between them. He guides himself, soon letting go when he’s deep enough to push all the way in. Bottoms out. Looks at Mickey, admires his beauty for a second. Just a second. 

 

Mickey’s head is leaned back again. His eyes closed and his lips parted as he feels Ian enter him. Feels what he wanted, what he needed. His hands automatically go down to Ian’s hips and he brings him closer, if it was even possible, and moans a low whisper of Ian’s name. 

 

When Ian doesn’t start moving, Mickey moves his head to look at him, eyes lidded but questioning when they catch the greens staring right back at him. Ian, the fucking sap, was still staring at him. ‘Just a second’ Mickey’s ass. 

 

Before Mickey can say anything, Ian clashes their mouths together. Tongue and teeth, rough and lust-filled. He moves his big pale hands to smooth down Mickey’s sides until they reach his hips and he lifts him a bit. Lifts him and slides his hands to really get a hold of Mickey’s ass so he can start fucking him like the both of them wanted. 

 

Ian starts to move his hips, starts to buck them forward. He moves and pulls away from the kiss to rest their foreheads against one another again. He breaths hard, eyes open and watching as he focuses on Mickey. 

 

Mickey’s hands had moved up Ian’s body so that he could wrap his arms around his neck, holding on. In the back of his mind he was glad that Ian lifted him up a bit, because fuck, the fucking concrete lid he was sitting on was fucking cold. 

 

Ian started to move faster. Faster and with more strength, the slap of his hips meeting Mickey’s skin filling the bathroom and bouncing off the walls. 

 

Mickey always wondered if their neighbors could hear them when they fucked. Wondered if someone was below them, having lunch with their partner, or sipping tea or some shit, only to hear Ian plowing the fuck out of him upstairs. 

 

“Shit!” Ian soon gasped, stopping in his tracks as he glared down at the floor. “Fuck, Mickey,” He pants. 

 

Mickey blinks, his eyebrows furrowing and his lips still parted as he breaths heavily. “What?” He asks. “Why’d you fuckin’ stop?” 

 

“The fucking toilet lid!” Ian exclaimed, tightening his grip on Mickey so that he wouldn’t drop him into the now open and water-filled toilet tank. The wall was giving him leverage and helping him keep Mickey up above it. 

 

The ginger let out a huff and a groan, “This is the second time, Mickey, I knew this shit was gonna happen. We just installed this fucking toilet!” 

 

Mickey sat there, legs wrapped around Ian’s waist. He dug his heels into Ian’s ass and pushed him closer, a shit eating grin plastered on his pink tinted, sweaty face. 

 

Ian looks at his boyfriend, eyebrows narrowing, eyes squinting. “What?” He asks. 

 

“Fuck me like I just caused that toilet to break, then.” 

 

Ian glares at Mickey for a moment before letting out a loud laugh. It’s loud and it’s genuine, his smile big as he shakes his head fondly. This fucking guy. 

 

He takes a moment after the laugh and brings one of his hands up to swipe over his forehead, ridding the sweat that had built up. He sighs and gives Mickey a soft, playful punch in the arm. “Asshole.” He murmurs before pulling out and helping Mickey stand. He had gone soft during the distraction and there was no way he was going to finish fucking Mickey until they got a new lid. 

 

Mickey knew this. He knew it and it bugged him, because fuck, Ian was giving it to him good. Good and hard, but then the fucking lid had to fall. What was with Ian and toilets that just didn’t work with Mickey? 

 

Ian bends down and grabs his boxers, pulling them up along with his jeans. “Gotta go to Home Depot now.” He says, long fingers running through red hair. 

 

“Finish later?” Mickey asks, pulling his own boxers up. 

 

“S’long as you don’t fucking break anything else.” Ian teases, but he’s partly serious. This is the fourth time something like this has happened, second time it’s been the toilet lid.

 

Mickey pokes his tongue out to lick the corner of his mouth. He smirks, “No promises.” 

 

* * *

 

 

Later that day, Mickey pulls the cupboard door off of the cabinet’s hinges while Ian’s ramming into him on the kitchen counter.

 

“Holy shit,” The black haired man pants, the cupboard door clanking onto the ground by Ian’s jean covered feet. “Your dick made me break the fuckin’ cupboard,” His voice is breathy and slightly worn, but his grin is audible. He looks at Ian and it only grows on his face, his eyebrows arched high, ready for Ian’s response. 

 

Ian looks at Mickey. Looks at him hard. Then looks down at the cupboard door. Then back to Mickey, and before you know it, he’s plowing into him again. Fucker fed off of what Mickey said, let it bleed into his massive ego, let it seep in and fucking spread and it made him want to continue, because yeah, his dick  _did_  fucking do that. 

 

His dick seems to be doing a lot of things around the house. 


End file.
